


Open Up The Pit

by DragonintheLibrary



Series: As He Swallows or Spits [1]
Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Also I'm really bad at tenses, Apparently the only back story I can imagine for Flip takes place during high school, Dissociation, Flip is figuring himself out, Flip's POV, Gay Flip, Hopefully all of the tenses agree, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Slurs, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 20:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16047662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonintheLibrary/pseuds/DragonintheLibrary
Summary: Flip Zimmerman is very good at not thinking about things.  He doesn’t think about being Jewish; he wears a Star of David because his Bubbie gave it to him years before she died, and it makes him feel closer to her.  Flip doesn’t really think about his identity at all.  He goes to work at the police department, but “cop” isn’t really how he thinks of himself.  When Flip gets off work on Fridays he often drives to the edge of town and walks into the tiny bar with the blacked out windows.  He has a couple of beers and sometimes he allows himself to be picked up by a guy, for sex in a car or a restroom or an alley, but he doesn’t describe himself as gay, even inside the privacy of his own head.





	Open Up The Pit

**Author's Note:**

> I selected the rating M for this fic because it features racial, religious, and homophobic slurs. There is also a lot of swearing of the non-slur variety. I think the level of slurs and swearing is about at, or possibly below the level in the movie, but please take care of yourself.  
> I'm not Jewish, or a cop, and I've never been a gay or bisexual man in the 70s. I probably got some things wrong. Sorry about that.

Flip Zimmerman is very good at not thinking about things. He doesn’t think about being Jewish; he wears a Star of David because his Bubbie gave it to him years before she died, and it makes him feel closer to her. Flip doesn’t really think about his identity at all. He goes to work at the police department, but “cop” isn’t really how he thinks of himself. When Flip gets off work on Fridays he often drives to the edge of town and walks into the tiny bar with the blacked out windows. He has a couple of beers and sometimes he allows himself to be picked up by a guy, for sex in a car or a restroom or an alley, but he doesn’t describe himself as gay, even inside the privacy of his own head. Flip Zimmerman goes to work, he goes out, and he comes home alone to his tiny apartment. Flip drinks coffee and beer, he wears flannel shirts, he smokes cigarettes, he practices shooting at the range, and sometimes on the weekends he goes for a hike. He sees his parents at Hanukah; he hasn’t had a relationship since his high school girlfriend broke up with him senior year; he doesn’t even own a dog. Flip Zimmerman doesn’t really think about his life until he gets stuck undercover as that damn rookie Ron Stallworth.

  
Flip first notices Ron when he and Jimmy are assigned to hold the rookie’s hand through an undercover op. It’s impossible not to notice Ron; he’s the first black officer at the Colorado Springs Police Department. But more than that Ron is young and handsome, and Flip always notices handsome men. But Flip isn’t going to do anything other than notice, because work is for work, and sex is for not work. Later, when Flip and Jimmy are sitting next to each other in an unmarked car, listening in to the mike taped to Ron’s shirt, Flip listens to Ron flirt with no small measure of enthusiasm and skill with a woman, and Flip catches himself thinking _T_ _hat really settles it_.

  
_No, no._ Flip tells himself. _There is nothing to settle. You work with the rookie, it doesn’t matter whether or not he likes women, nothing is going to happen at your fucking place of work, you idiot._ And Flip Zimmerman firmly shoves all thoughts of the rookie’s attractiveness to the back of his head, in the place where he doesn’t go, and focuses on the op.  
The op wraps up, the rookie is assigned full-time to narcotics, and suddenly (all of a sudden, so fast it gave him whiplash) Flip is undercover as a fucking racist, using Ron Stallworth’s fucking name, poison words dropping from his mouth, words he stopped hearing in high school when he started beating up the kids who called him “kike” and his best friend “faggot” and their classmates “nigger.” Flip had hit people so that he wouldn’t have to hear those words anymore and now he’s dropping them left and right without flinching and maybe he should have listened to his high school English teacher and tried out for the school play after all because it turns out that Flip is a fucking good actor.

  
And then Flip is in the basement of a white-fucking-supremacist, with a gun in his face, telling aforementioned gun-brandishing white supremacist that the holocaust was the best thing that ever happened, swearing that he’s not Jewish, spewing the most hateful nonsense about his own people, and thinks to himself, _I’m going to die in this basement while wearing the mask of this homophobic, racist, anti-Semitic person I’m pretending to be. I’m going to fucking die wearing this mask and I will never get it off._

  
Flip doesn’t die. And the next day he’s in the records room, being taken to task by the rookie for not wanting to die at the hands of these fucking Nazis, for trying to pass, for not taking this personally enough. _This is just supposed to be my fucking job,_ Flip thinks to himself, walking away and lighting a cigarette. But the rookie has somehow lodged himself in the back of Flip’s head, in the part of Flip’s head where he never goes, with all the things he never thinks about. And suddenly Flip is thinking about all of the things in the back of his head. He thinks about going to his Bubbie’s synagogue once or twice a year, and never really knowing the prayers. He thinks about the Star of David she gave him when he turned thirteen, and how the rest of that birthday was just the same as every other year with cake and comics and a new soccer ball. He thinks about studying the holocaust in high school, and how distant he felt from everyone and everything, like he wasn’t really Jewish, like he wasn’t really even in that classroom.

  
The card comes in the mail: Ron Stallworth, Klansman. Flip tells the rookie that he’s been thinking about what it means to be Jewish. Flip has also been thinking about the tiny bar with the blacked out windows, and why Laura broke up with him in high school (“You’re a nice guy, Flip. But I never get the feeling you actually, really truly like me”), and how smart and beautiful and dedicated the real Ron Stallworth is. But Flip doesn’t tell the rookie that part.

  
And then ( _and then_ ) he’s sitting in a truck with Ivanhoe, watching cop cars drive through the area, waiting for the cross burning to start. Ivanhoe is asking about C4, and Flip is gently probing (which is easier with Ivanhoe than the others, because Ivanhoe is always drunk) when Ivanhoe says, “Those fags won’t know what hit them.”

“What fags?” Flip asks.

  
Ivanhoe names two bars and one of them is _the bar that Flip goes to,_ and he is so screwed, he is so fucking screwed. What if they’ve already been there? What if they saw him? The rookie is sending squad cars through this area, so the racist thugs get nervous and call off the cross burning. Flip plays along for the rest of the evening, drops a few choice slurs, but he doesn’t feel there, nothing feels real. When the white supremacists go home, Flip goes back to his truck, but doesn’t get in. He leans against the metal door, and lights a cigarette, trying to calm his nerves. Flip sees Ron walking towards him across the dark parking lot, and he’s surprised. Should he be surprised? He can’t remember if they were meeting here, or at the station, or at the station tomorrow morning.

  
Ron leans against the truck next to Flip, and says something smug about the cross burning that didn’t happen.

“I’m fucking made,” Flip says, jittery from the nicotine, or maybe from not enough nicotine.

“What?” Ron asks. “No. I didn’t hear them say anything about that. What?”

“You heard them,” Flip says. “They want to blow up those bars.”

“Yeah…” Ron says, not getting it. “They want to. They’re not going to. That’s why we’re here.”

“No,” Flip says. “You don’t get it. That is my fucking bar. They want to blow up my fucking bar, which means they’re going to case the place first, and they’re going to see me, so I can’t go there anymore, or I’ll have to go with them as Ron Stallworth to case the joint and I’ll be recognized by someone else there because it’s my fucking bar, and I’m telling you that _I’m fucking made._ ”

“It’s going to be okay,” Ron said. “We’re going to stop them. You’re not going to be made.”  
Which is all totally beside the point, the point being that Flip just told Ron that he frequents a gay bar, and Ron didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m going home,” Flip says. “Get off my truck. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ron glances over at Flip. “You can’t drive,” Ron says. “Your hands are shaking.”

“Get the fuck off my truck,” Flip says.

“I’ll drive you,” Ron says. “Give me the keys.”

For some reason, maybe because he’s learned that he can never win a fight with Ron, and it only hurts when he tries to, or maybe because he doesn’t want to be alone, Flip does give Ron the keys. Flip climbs into the passenger seat of his own truck and lights another cigarette. He’s so focused on making sure his hands don’t shake that he doesn’t notice where Ron’s taking him.

“This isn’t my place,” Flip says.

“Your place is too far out of the way,” Ron says. “Mine is closer. It’s late. I’m not driving all over Colorado Springs right now when I have a perfectly comfortable couch.”  
Flip could point out that Ron offered to drive. He could point out that his apartment is a fifteen-minute drive from here. But he doesn’t. He just sighs, and gets out of the truck. He goes to light another cigarette and realizes his pack is empty. Flip follows Ron inside and upstairs to his partner’s apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” Ron says. “There’s beer in the fridge if you want it,” and he disappears into another room.

Flip does want the beer. Nicotine didn’t calm him down, but alcohol might. Ron’s fridge is full of neatly arranged fresh fruits and vegetables, and the better part of a six-pack at the back. Flip grabs one of the bottles and twists the cap off. Ron comes back into the living room with a pillow and folded sheets. Flip tries not to watch Ron bending over the couch, so he turns and stares out the window above the kitchen sink. Flip watches the dark, quiet street and drinks his beer.

“You hungry?” Ron asks, coming into the kitchen.

Flip shrugs. He’s calmer than he was an hour ago, but he still can’t really feel his body. “I could eat.”

Ron boils water on the stove, and makes a salad. He cooks pasta and reheats some sauce in a pan.

“Should I do something?” Flip asks. “To help?”

Ron glances at him with a gleam in his eye, and then Flip is setting the table, with cloth napkins and glasses of water, like he’s a child again in his parents’ home. Flip sits at the table and Ron brings him a large plate heaping with salad and a small bowl of pasta. It looks like the ration of green leaves to real food has tipped way too far in the direction of green leaves, but Ron just says, “Thanks for cooking.” The pasta smells good, and his stomach growls; it turns out he was hungry after all. Flip demolishes everything, even the salad, and drains his water.

“It’s late,” Ron says. “I’m going to turn in.”

Flip is tired. He should just pass out on Ron’s couch. All of his worries will still be there in the morning, after all. But he can’t let it go. “That’s it?” Flip asks. “You’re just gonna give me a beer and make me dinner and make me sleep on your couch?”

“Yes?” Ron says.

“I told you that I’m a queer and you don’t have any response to that?” Flip asks.

“Well, first of all,” Ron says. “You did not tell me that. You said you frequent a gay bar in our town.”

“Well,” Flip says. “I am. A queer.”

“Okay,” Ron says.

“Okay?! That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Flip is tired. He should let this go. But he can’t seem to.

“What do you want me to say?” Ron asks.

“I don’t know!” Flip says. “Say that you knew that you’re surprised, say you knew it all along, say you’re going to report me to the chief, call me a fucking faggot, just say something!”

“Well,” Ron says, “I’m not. Going to report you to the chief. Not that I think he’d throw you off the force outright, but I get wanting to lay low. I don’t tell anyone at work—I mean, I haven’t told anyone yet, that I’m…. bisexual.”

“Oh,” Flip says.

“So, you know,” Ron says. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Flip repeats.

“Go to sleep,” Ron says. “I’m sure as hell going to.”

“Okay,” Flip says.

Ron goes into the bedroom and closes the door. Flip takes off his shoes and his belt and his outer shirt, and lies down on the couch between soft crisp sheets, under a crocheted blanket. He lays awake for a little while, because it’s an unfamiliar place, and because his mind is churning. The word “bisexual” had opened something up inside of Flip. He hadn’t thought about any words in relation to himself. He’d never thought bisexual, homosexual, straight, gay. He slept with men because… he had told himself for a long time that he slept with men because it was easier. And in some ways it was. He could have anonymous, emotionless sex with men fairly easily. Flip hadn’t wanted a relationship; he’d just wanted another body in proximity to his own. But now that Flip thought about it, thought about wanting sex even if it was more difficult, thought about maybe wanting a relationship again, he realized that he would only want that hypothetical situation with a man. He hadn’t been upset when Lauren had broken up with him. Dating her had been low stakes, just like hook ups in cars were low stakes. And now that even his low stakes, half-assed gay-bar existence might expose him as an undercover cop, Flip realized he didn’t want to die only half-assing his existence. Flip fell asleep listening to Ron say the word “bisexual” in his mind.

~~~

Flip wakes up the next morning with sunlight in his eyes. He groans, and rolls over on the couch. Ron is making coffee in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Ron says. “How do you like your eggs?”

“I don’t have time for breakfast,” Flip says. “I’ve gotta drive home and change before work.”

“You’ve got time,” Ron says. “We were on an op late last night. No one expects us to be in early today. How do you like your eggs?”

Flip gives in. “Fried,” he says and gets up to go to the bathroom.

When Flip comes back to the kitchen eggs are sizzling in the pan and there are two plates on the counter already full of fresh sliced peaches with yoghurt. Flip pours himself a cup of coffee and leans against the counter.

“Sleep okay?” Ron asks.

“Yeah,” Flip says. He gulps at the coffee, savoring the burn in his throat.

Ron puts eggs on the plates, sets the plates on the table, and gestures for Flip to sit.

Flip sits and they eat.

“You’re a really good cook,” Flip says, once he’s finished his eggs. “Thanks for feeding me twice in a row.”

“You’re very welcome,” Ron says. “Eat your fruit. I think you’re going to get scurvy.”

Flip scowls at Ron over the rim of his coffee cup, but he is hungry, so he spears a slice of peach with his fork and eats it. “Happy?” Flip asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron says. “Finish up.”

Flip and Ron finish their breakfast. Flip wants another cup of coffee so he does the dishes while he drinks it, trying not to listen to Ron getting ready for work in the next room.

Ron comes out of the bedroom as Flip finishes up with the dishes.

“I’m gonna head out,” Flip says. “See ya at work.

“Hey,” Ron says.

Flip stops, and looks at him.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m going to make sure you’re safe. They’re not going to figure out who you are, and they’re not going to blow up your bar. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Flip takes a breath, but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods. “See you at work.”

~~~

Flip drives home and takes a shower and puts on clean clothes. The thing is. Well, the thing is that that Ron: beautiful, smart, sure of himself Ron; had applied the word “bisexual” to himself. And Flip had told him…well, Flip had made a mess of it, because he always made a mess of it, but Flip had been trying to tell Ron, had been trying to tell himself, that he was…gay. Flip Zimmerman, Jewish cop in the Colorado Springs Police Department working undercover to infiltrate the KKK, is a gay man. Flip takes a deep breath and rubs his hand over his hair. That is the thing.

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently the real life Ron Stallworth's undercover investigation of the Colorado Springs KKK chapter uncovered the fact that they wanted to blow up a couple of gay bars in the area (some of the articles I read said the gay bars were in neighboring Denver, and some of the articles said they were located in Colorado Springs). And my brain, which was already trying to figure out the best way to make this movie more gay (my brain is always trying to figure out how to best make everything more gay) grabbed onto that fact and was like "we can work with this" and here it is.  
> The title is a lyric from the song "Preaching to the Choir Invisible, Part I (What Do You Think Happens When We Die?)" by Quiet Company. (The song doesn't really have anything to do with this story, I just like it. And also I don't know how else to do titles for fanfic.)  
> I'm working on a sequel for this story. Hopefully it will be up soon. EDIT: It has been posted.


End file.
